


You Got Something I Need

by clicheanna



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, also normal!Niall, and white eskimo!Zayn Liam and Josh, based off an au meme, normal!louis, these tags suck i'm sorry, trying to at least, using creativity in a prompt that has pretty much all the main events planned out hooray!, white eskimo!Harry, you know you all love that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:25:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clicheanna/pseuds/clicheanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles is on tour with his world famous rock band, White Eskimo. Louis’ a huge fan (and definitely does not have a crush on Harry) and tweets him after he goes to their concert. He really doesn’t expect the events that follow to happen.</p><p>
  <em>Not only that, but because he didn’t just reply and hurriedly scroll past this tweet, he gets a good look at the profile picture, which is of a guy–Harry guess the ‘Louis Tomlinson’ the display name says–with feathered brown hair in a fringe, piercing blue eyes, and a huge grin on his face in a striped shirt with jeans. He’s giving the camera two thumbs up in front of what looks like some store. Harry swears he’s seen that guy, Louis, before, maybe even earlier that day, and that’s when it clicks into place.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He was at the concert tonight, which was obvious by his tweet, and in front row, and wasn’t he the one that made Harry stumble over his lines for a split-second when he first saw him, belting out the lyrics to the song with a dopey smile?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And, wow, Harry’s almost dropped his phone.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> (Based off of [this](http://doncastertea.tumblr.com/post/51079121393/au-requested-harry-styles-is-on-tour-with-his) AU meme. Summary is a variation of the description of the meme.)
> 
> I thought this idea was really cute and if no one else was going to write it, then I was.
> 
> I changed up Louis’ first tweet to Harry from the AU because I wanted to make it a bit more realistic, and there had to be a reason he was able to see that tweet out of all the others posted, otherwise, if it didn’t say something witty/flirty, Harry might’ve only replied with something like ‘Thaaaannkkss!’ if anything. It’ll make more sense when you read I guess.
> 
> This part might be the only one that will include Harry’s POV. I thought it was necessary for this, but it will be all Louis’ afterwards. I also haven’t looked over this part yet because I wanted to get it up before I go to bed, so I might edit it a bit tomorrow or something.
> 
> There will be no scheduled updates for this. Every chapter will be posted when I get around to finishing one, but there won’t be many chapters. Maybe ten at the most, I hope. But because I’ve just said that it will probably be way off from ten.
> 
> Title credit comes from OneRepublic’s ‘Something I Need.’ (I love that song so much go listen to it.)

 

“That concert was _sick,_ mate!”

Louis fumbles with his keys as Niall throws his arm around his shoulders, leaning into him with a yelp of excitement.

He grins despite himself. “Pretty sure that was the best night of my life.” He successfully unlocks the door to their flat, stepping in and throwing his jacket by the closet.

“So, was Harry Styles all that you’d thought he would be?” Niall asks while kicking off his shoes.

Louis turns to face his friend with a dramatic hand over his heart. “All that and more, my dear Niall,” he replies in a posh accent. “I may need surgical operations because he glanced our way once.”

Niall chuckles and pats the brunette on his back as they walk to their living room. “Glancing? If I had to guess, I would say he stared at you for a good ten seconds.”

Louis shakes his head and sprawls out on the sofa. “Now, now, Niall, let’s not go putting ideas in my brain. We all know that, while I am very fit, I am nowhere near fit enough for the likes of Harry Styles.”

Niall laughs and sits down in the sliver of space Louis left available on the couch. “Alright, maybe it wasn’t ten seconds. But I’m about seventy-five percent sure it was longer than normal.

Louis rolls his eyes and kicks at Niall’s thigh with his feet. “ _’Longer than normal,’_ ” he repeats, miming quotation marks with his fingers.

Niall sighs exaggeratedly, slipping down the sofa in mock defeat.

Louis smiles and grabs the remote, flicking the TV on and turning to some late-night show.

Louis and Niall had been fans of the band White Eskimo ever since they played a small gig at their local bar in Manchester when they were first starting out. The two flatmates had gone home and downloaded the few songs already made and have been following the four guys all the way up to their first world tour–England being their home country, their last stop.

Niall had soon caught on to the fact that Louis had a particular interest in the lead singer, Harry. After a bit of harmless teasing, Louis had learned to accept the fact that Niall wasn’t going to let it go, and has even gone along with some of the jokes now.

(Not that he has a crush on Harry. No, that would be ridiculous. He’s in a _world famous band_ for crying out loud. And Louis’ just a huge fan. That means it could never work. Nope.)

They had gotten tickets to White Eskimo’s Manchester show–front row too, because small parts in small television shows and playing gigs in pubs still seem to make a decent amount of money–and mentally prepared themselves for weeks for it.

Or maybe that was just Louis. Whatever.

And here they were now, about an hour after the concert ended, lazing around in their flat with Niall teasing Louis again. Pretty normal circumstances.

Louis’ started out of mindlessly watching television when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He slides it out and sees a Twitter notification on his lockscreen.

**Twitter  1 m ago**

**@Harry_Styles: You were a wonderful crowd tonight Manchester. Great show .x**

“Speak of the devil, Niall,” Louis comments, shoving the phone in Niall’s face. He just sticks his tongue out at him.

Louis unlocks his phone, fully viewing the tweet. He favorites it, just because, and deliberates whether or not to reply. He decides to, because well, he _was_ part of the crowd Harry’s talking about. You could make an argument he just called Louis wonderful. That’s worth a reply.

 

**@Louis_Tomlinson: @Harry_Styles It certainly lived up to my expectations ;)**

 

A bit forward, yes, but the dude’s getting about ten marriage proposals and statements of _‘fuck me with your huge dick’_ every second. Louis could do worse. It’s not like he’s going to see it anyway.

 

**◊◊◊◊**

Harry had just collapsed on his bunk in the tour bus when Zayn reminds him that _‘mate, you need to tweet about the show, ha ha’_ before leaving as suddenly as he showed up.

And yeah, Harry’s made it his goal to tweet (or Instagram something that gets sent to his Twitter) something about every concert they do after it’s all over, but sometimes it’s just a huge pain to slide your phone out of your pocket when you’re so comfortable in bed. He’s a rock star now. There needs to be an invention made to solve this problem.

But with a sigh, he gets his phone out and opens up the Twitter app, pressing the button to compose a new tweet.

He fiddles with his fingers a bit while he tries to come up with something new to say, which is a bit hard when you’re near the end of a world tour. He settles on the ‘excellent crowd’ thing–because there were a few people who caught his eye tonight, whether it was a sign they had or just their expressions after every note–and hits ‘Tweet.’

Instantly his timeline is filled with fan accounts professing their love for him and how he’s the cutest thing ever, people with his follow retweeting others spam (which is pretty smart, in his opinion, but he’s not in the mood to follow anyone), and a tweet from a celebrity friend he makes a mental reminder to check out later.

He goes to his mentions tab to see what anyone that hasn’t been noticed by him yet (it’s still such a weird thing to think about) have to say. Most of it is spam, but there are a few he replies to asking about his day or what he’s doing right now.

Among the non-spam tweets is one from a guy, surprisingly enough, replying to his previous tweet that makes Harry pause for a few seconds.

It’s _flirty_ , something Harry hasn’t really seen in a while. Sure, people come up to him at parties and such and do it then, but it’s too obvious, almost like they think he’s easy and will just fall into their bed at anything they say. And there are some messed-up-in-the-mind-a-bit girls on the site who will leave suggestive messages, but the same goes there, too.

 _This_ message is what Harry would think, if he was a normal, not famous, person, what people would do to get his attention. The big thing, though, is that it’s from neither a fan account nor a girl. Harry has made a public statement about being bisexual, yeah, but not many blokes are on Twitter. It’s like the realm of the fangirls, honestly.

Not only that, but because he didn’t just reply and hurriedly scroll past this tweet, he gets a good look at the profile picture, which is of a guy–Harry guess the _‘Louis Tomlinson’_ the display name says–with feathered brown hair in a fringe, piercing blue eyes, and a huge grin on his face in a striped shirt with jeans. He’s giving the camera two thumbs up in front of what looks like some store. Harry swears he’s seen that guy, Louis, before, maybe even earlier that day, and that’s when it clicks into place.

He was at the concert tonight, which was obvious by his tweet, and in front row, and wasn’t he the one that made Harry stumble over his lines for a split-second when he first saw him, belting out the lyrics to the song with a dopey smile?

And, wow, Harry’s almost dropped his phone.

Harry steadies his hand, taking a deep breath and determined to put up a brave act. This Louis guy sends him something flirty so he has to be interested in some way, even if he’s probably a fan,  and he at least knows Harry has the _potential_ to be interested (which he kind of already is) so, it shouldn’t be a problem to leave something appropriate as a response.

 

**@Harry_Styles: @Louis_Tomlinson I think I saw you! Front row? You were quite… distracting ;)**

(On the other side of town, a scream that the owner will deny to this day could be heard.) 


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shit you not this whole chapter was written during school, I just edited it at home.
> 
> Enjoy Chapter 1!

“Louis! You’ll never believe this!”

Louis nearly falls off the couch from the sudden yelling and slam of a door opening. Niall almost pushes him off, too, when he jumps onto the sofa and lands on top of Louis.

“What is it?” he grumbles, out of breath from being crushed by an Irish, blonde, nineteen-year old.

“You’ll never guess who was at the restaurant today!”

Louis huffs. “Well if you don’t tell me then–“

“Josh Devine!”

Louis instantly falls silent; jaw slack. “ _Josh Devine?_ ”

Niall excitedly nods. “He was just sitting at a booth with some guys! And no one was recognizing him, Lou, ‘cause he wasn’t with the rest of the band! I just went up and asked him if he was enjoying his food a few times, and by the end of it we started having actual conversations and now _I have his fucking number!_ ”

That’s impossible. “His number?” Louis squeaks out.

“Yeah, look!” Niall replies, pulling out his phone and scrolling through a few things before showing the phone screen to Louis.

And there’s a contact page named ‘ _JOSH DEVINE!!!’_ with a sunglasses emoji beside it and a “hi :)” sent by Niall about two minutes ago.

Louis just stares, unable to believe it, while Niall turns his phone back.

Josh Devine is the drummer of White Eskimo. While not as popular as Harry or the lead guitarist Zayn, his fan base adores him. He’s cute and sweet and can play the drums like his life depended on it. He was Niall’s favorite because of his easygoing nature, and nor Harry, Zayn, or Liam could take the spot, as he tended to remind Louis of constantly.

“Is this actually happening?” he wonders out loud, when Niall’s phone buzzes in his hand and he literally _squeals._

“Look!” he shouts, displaying Josh’s message screen where a ‘ _hey is this niall ?_ ’ is now there. “We go to a White Eskimo concert, you get a tweet from Harry Styles, and I get Josh Devine’s number. These past few days cannot possibly get any better.” Niall abruptly seems to remember something and puts the phone down. “Oh right! You got a tweet from Harry yesterday! Is he tearing your clothes off with his teeth, yet–“

“Niall!” Louis cries, throwing a pillow at his face.

Niall snorts and removes the pillow from the couch. “What? He pretty much said he wants to see you naked.”

Louis groans. “He _did not_. I’m fairly sure he was just mocking me.”

Which is obviously correct, isn’t it? Maybe he did see him in the front row, but maybe he was just processing how _uninterested_ he would be in _‘that guy next to the blonde in the front row.’_ He couldn’t be a point of attraction to Harry Styles. Now _that_ was impossible.

“Tweet him back then,” Niall advises with a grin. “See what he says.”

Louis glares. “I tweeted _two_ things yesterday, neither very exciting and my interactions went on overload. Like hell I’m tweeting back.”

“Then I’ll do it. Give me your phone.” He holds out his hand, gesturing for Louis to take out his phone.

He stares at it then looks back up at Niall. “No, Niall.”

“C’mon,” he urges, leaning forward.

Louis’ hand slides to his pocket protectively. “You’re not tweeting him.”

“If you’re not, then I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Niall.”

“Louis.”

“ _Niall._ ”

“ _Louis._ ”

“You’re not taking my–” Niall lunges at Louis, tackling him to the ground. “Niall!”

“If my best friend has a chance with Harry Styles, he’s getting with Harry Styles!”

They wrestle around on the floor for a few moments but Niall ultimately has Louis pinned to the floor. Louis scowls at him. “Just because he’s hot doesn’t mean I want to date him.”

Niall tilts his head. “Well, he’s not just hot, he’s nice, and cute, and like a baby giraffe–“

“ _I’m_ the one with a crush?”

“I’m just listing off things _you’ve_ said,” he shrugs. He sits up so he’s no longer pinning Louis.

Louis sighs under Niall’s weight. “Ok, maybe I want to date him. But he’d be dumb to date me. He doesn’t even _know_ me.” He kicks Niall off of him and sits up, Niall following after.

“Then talk to him while you can! Why lose your only chance?”

Louis blinks. “But–“

“No buts! Get your phone out this instant and tweet him back!”

There was no way he was going to win this battle. This was _Niall._ He rolls his eyes, defeated. “Ok, _mum_.”

“There’s a good lad!” Niall teases before sitting back down on the couch, patting the space next to him. Louis complies and settles in to the spot, taking his phone out and placing it on his lap. He takes a deep breath and picks it back up again, turning it on and opening up the Twitter app.

He goes to Harry’s account, and there’s a new tweet there to a celebrity Louis’ never heard of, but directly under is the tweet to Louis, distinctly sticking out to him like proof it wasn’t all a dream.

He clicks reply and probably just remains there blankly for a good five minutes before Niall groans loudly and tells Louis to ‘ _get the fuck on with it.’_

So Louis thinks about what he would say if someone significantly _less famous_ said something like Harry did yesterday and lets his fingers do the work.

(There’s a joke there somewhere.)

**@Louis_Tomlinson:@Harry_Styles Was I ? Didn’t even notice, rockstar.**

 

Niall grins when Louis clicks send and his phone starts buzzing uncontrollably (a lot of messages say ‘ _WAHT_ ’ or ‘ _EXCCUZUZE MEA’_ , coming from accounts with ‘Styles’ or ‘Harry’ somewhere in their username, occasional ‘Malik’, ‘Payne,’ or ‘Devine’s.

“Look at you, Mr. Popular,” he laughs.

Louis turns his phone off. “Shut up,” he snarls, with no malice.

“When you two get married, I’ll be your best man and you better bet this moment is going in my speech. We’ll all look back and laugh.”

“ _When?_ ” Louis repeats incredulously.

Niall smirks. “Duh. I won’t have it any other way.”

Niall’s ridiculous. “Wouldn’t it be _my_ wedding?” Louis points out.

“So you’re accepting, then?”

“I’m not–” He stops when he sees Niall’s wiggling eyebrows. He sighs. “Niall, shut up.”

“Aw, but I don’t wanna!” Niall whines and ruffles Louis’ hair.

He shoves him off. “Keep that up and you don’t get to be a best man at all.”

“You love me,” Niall says while pressing an overdramatic kiss to his cheek.

Louis wipes it off and pretends to be disgusted. “I don’t want your spit.”

“I know someone else’s spit you do want,” Niall winks.

Another pillow is thrown at his face.

(About an hour later, Louis gets a new Twitter notification, this one saying ‘ _@Harry_Styles is now following you!’_ )

 

**◊◊◊◊**

Twitter blows up the rest of the day. Louis’ name was on the worldwide trends for about two hours, ‘Harry and Louis’ trended for a lot longer. Someone he’s following retweets an article link titled ‘ _Is White Eskimo’s Harry Styles in a Twitter Relationship?’_ He gains about 5,000 followers in the span of 24 hours, and any previous tweet he sent about Harry Styles or White Eskimo is retweeted and favorited a billion times, it feels like.

Lottie, his oldest younger sister, even calls him the next day, asking when he was going to tell her he’s dating Harry Styles.

“I’m not dating him,” Louis corrects.

“According to everyone else you are,” Lottie says. “You’re ‘ _internet boyfriends_ ’, ‘ _social media sweethearts_ ’, ‘ _Twitter Lovers’_ –“

“I get it,” Louis interrupts dryly.

“How’d he even see your tweet? I mean, he gets hundreds of mentions every minute–“

“I know.”

“–And you only sent _one_ –“

“I know.”

“–And so many girls spam him every day, but _you_ get a reply and follow ‘cause you have a pretty face–“

“Lottie!”

Lottie stops and exhales. “What?”

Louis runs his free hand through his hair. “I realize that, okay? He _possibly_ recognized me from the concert I went to–I think he’s just fucking with me, though– he saw my tweet, and flirted back. Thousands of teenage girls everywhere want to be me, hoorah.”

“He also followed you when _you_ flirted back. This is a huge deal, Louis!”

Louis knows this, yes. If he was three years younger and had boobs, he’d be squealing right now.

But he’s not, so he keeps that inside of him.

“And what do you think’s gonna happen, Lottie? We’ve never actually met, and chances are we’re not going to.”

“Don’t say that!” Lottie practically yells. “Like Ellie Goulding said, ‘ _anything could happen’_ or _‘all I know since yesterday, is everything has changed_ ’ or ‘ _dreaming about the things that we could be–‘“_

“Lottie, you ramble a lot,” Louis cuts in again.

Louis could almost feel her small smile. “I know.”

“Look, love, since you’re so concerned, you’ll be the first to know if anything happens.”

Louis hears a sigh. “Alright.”

He chuckles. “Do you _want_ something else to happen?”

There’s a pause, then “Well, yeah! My brother sleeping with a rock star that he’s been obsessing over? Not to mention everyone and their mother likes said rock star? It would be amazing!”

Well, OK.

“For me or for you?” Louis says jokingly.

Lottie laughs. “For you, of course, my dearest brother!”

Louis shakes his head with a fond grin. “I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later. Say hi to mum and the girls for me.”

“Oh, right!” Lottie exclaims suddenly. “Mum’s worried you started dating someone famous and didn’t tell her. She wants to talk to you.”

“Oh, God,” Louis says in fake horror. Lottie laughs again, says a rushed goodbye, before the line is silent for a few seconds.

There’s a muffle noise on the other end before a “Hello?”

“Hi Mum!” Louis says, way too cheery. If she was actually here she’d be sending daggers through Louis’ head.

“Louis William Tomlinson, please explain to me why you’re in the papers,” Johannah’s stern voice demands.

“Oh…” Louis starts, “well, I’m not really sure. I’m not that interesting am I?”

“Louis,” Jay warns.

He sighs. “Alright, I _might_ have sent a tweet to Harry Styles after the White Eskimo concert, and he _might_ have replied to it saying he saw me there and that I was a distraction.”

Louis can tell she’s shocked by how she stays quiet for a while. “You’re kidding,” Jay finally breathes out.

Louis shakes his head. “Nope, you can check Twitter.”

There’s silence for a few seconds before Jay speaks up again. “You’re not actually dating, are you?” she asks carefully. “It’s just, it’s been _two days_ since that concert and–“

“Mum, no!” Louis interrupts. “No! People just assume things. I’m not even sure he’s actually interested.”

She seems to take a moment to consider this. “It sounds like he’s pretty interested to me,” she supplies.

“But, what if he’s actually a jerk?” Louis points out. “Maybe he finds this whole thing hilarious and thinks I’m just a loser.”

“Are we talking about the same Harry Styles here?” she asks him. “The one I read accidentally bumped into a fan and made her drop her phone and crack the screen, and he apologized by buying her a new one?”

Louis bites his lip. “But still…”

“Still what, Louis? I say give him a chance! You’ve had the biggest celebrity crush on this guy for two years now, what’s the harm in trying?”

There is no harm, right. Maybe a bit of public embarrassment, but he can always delete his account and start a new one, he’s pretty sure. He’ll either have some twisted form of an internet relationship, or go back to where he started, just a bit more speculative about Harry Styles’ humor.

Jay always gives Louis the best revelations. He doesn’t give her enough credit.

“Ok, yeah,” Louis agrees. “I’ll try.”

Louis wouldn’t be surprised if she lit up like a Christmas tree. “Great, honey! Let me know how it goes!”

He says his goodbyes and hangs up. He told his mother he’ll try and contact Harry again and how can he go back on that? He’s obligated now. Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on twitter: @millounaires
> 
> follow me on tumblr: larryarrow.tumblr.com
> 
> this actually might come out shorter than i expected that's new


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is 5.4K words and I'm pretty sure that's the most I've written for any chapter of any chaptered fanfic I've written (which is my old het ones basically)
> 
> I hope you enjoy while I figure out why the hell I post everything at night.
> 
> The tweets they send at the end of this chapter (you'll see) are the exact copies of the tweets shown in the meme thing, and the link for that is still on the prologue if you want to see. The only changes are one word in Louis' tweet and slight differences in the pictures included.

It takes Louis a lot of pep talks to work up the courage to tweet Harry something.

Right now, it’s all Louis’ job to initiate conversation. Harry hasn’t said anything since following him two days ago and Louis isn’t expecting him to anytime soon now. So it’s _his_ responsibility to come up with something witty to say that’ll keep a super famous singer on his feet, if he still even wants to talk to Louis.

He’s typed so many messages and erased them, he’s lost count. He wants to appear funny, but let Harry know he’s also kind of serious about whatever he said, too, because he doesn’t even have to exactly know what’s going to be typed out to realize he’s going to mean every word.

He wants to seem flirty, but not desperately so; not on the long list of names of people who want to get into Harry Styles’ pants. And, yeah, he does, but he needs to stick out from everyone else. Maybe he’s a fan, but there’s more to him, and the trick is to get him to acknowledge that (“If he hasn’t already,” Niall helpfully adds on).

Louis’ train of thought goes something like this while typing out tweets until he remembers _it’s a fucking tweet, for God’s sake, man up._

When Harry tweets some random indie song lyrics about _‘being my winding wheel’_ or something like that, Louis decides he should probably reply before he goes offline. So he clicks some letters, only restarts twice, and sends it before he can regret it.

**@Louis_Tomlinson: @Harry_Styles a winding wheel, eh? I think that could be arranged…**

 

Claps for Louis; making a sexual innuendo that doesn’t actually make any sense. That’s funny, but serious in a way, and flirty, isn’t it?

After tons of retweets and favorites and quoting of the tweet, there’s a reply from someone he follows, a notification setting he had to change sometime yesterday.

 

**@Harry_Styles: @Louis_Tomlinson That doesn’t make any sense, nice try ;P**

After taking a few deep breaths, Louis laughs loudly when the words finally group together right in his head and he resolves to never admit that fact. He’s replying before he’s exactly conscious of it.

**@Louis_Tomlinson: @Harry_Styles Aw, I thought I was being clever :(**

While he waits for a response, he goes through his mentions. People were quoting the tweets with capitalized letters spelt out like they’re eight years old after the quotation marks or adding ‘otp’–whatever that means–or “CUTE” and “OH MY GOD.” Louis’ a bit confused as to why everyone’s freaking out, but he guesses if someone else was in his position, he’d either want to chop their head off or adore them with Harry with all of his heart.

He gets a reply soon after.

 

**@Harry_Styles: @Louis_Tomlinson No sympathy, babe. Try harder.**

Forget deep breathing, Louis’ stopped altogether.

Fucking _babe._

Louis’ fingers shake as he clicks on his phone.

 

**@Louis_Tomlinson: @Harry_Styles Try harder? I don’t know, I’m going pretty hard as it is.**

Oh, bloody hell, where did _that_ come from.

His phone vibrates with a new notification before he can think about it much longer.

 

**@Harry_Styles: @Louis_Tomlinson Much better :) x**

Louis doesn’t try to reply after that. He’s too busy screaming into his fist.

 

**◊◊◊◊**

It goes like that for a week; one tweeting the other with any cute shit ( **@Louis_Tomlinson: @Harry_Styles saw you’re lovely face on a magazine earlier :D)** or innuendo **(@Harry_Styles: @Louis_Tomlinson What else did you think about my face?)** they could think of, the fan girls have some sort of a party, and Niall tries to convince Louis to ‘ _at least talk through DM and get his number for crying out loud_.’

But Louis’ not going to risk it; will gladly take an incredibly public semi-relationship instead of destroying it forever by asking for a number, or making the conversations private, which will no doubt have some metaphorical value on Harry because, of course, he’s a songwriter and that’s what they specialize in.

So this is safe, this is good.

Louis’ resolve is slowly breaking, though. He finds he constantly wants to ask if they could meet properly and go get dinner or something, but there’s two things stopping him. One being Harry’s on the complete opposite side of England right now and won’t be back for a couple of days, and Louis doesn’t think he could wait that long in anticipation, even if he got a yes as an answer–there’s enough time to regret that decision–which brings him to his second reason, that being he still doesn’t believe Harry _would_ say yes. He might be mildly interested in Louis, that’s obvious now, but he’s a busy guy. Maybe he’s not looking for a relationship and just a bit of fun, but Louis really, _really_ doesn’t want that, that’s why he continued the messages in the first place. He wants to try with Harry, despite what it looks like, and have fun movie marathons and picnics and cuddling under blankets and everything a hopeless romantic fan pining over a superstar could want.

It’s deterring, the strange position he’s in now where he _should_ go after what he wants but is too scared of the reaction. He doesn’t know if there’s someone who understands (because Niall definitely wouldn’t and he already knows what he would say) what he’s going through and could have an unbiased opinion from not just an outsider looking in, but someone who _knows_ what’s happening and adds in a victim’s personal feelings into the mix. Give him advice and personal experience and such.

But the keywords are _he doesn’t know_ so he doesn’t change the routine they’ve set up, as much as he wants to.

Harry doesn’t either, so it’s as much as his fault as Louis’.

It’s sometime in Week Two since ‘The Tweet From Harry Styles’ (capitalized letters and all; it’s a pretty monumental occasion) when Niall comes into Louis’ bedroom, screaming at his phone.

“Louis! Oh my God!” he yells, pointing at his screen.

It’s possible Niall has gone crazy in the past two weeks. “What’s wrong?” Louis asks, getting up to stand in front of his friend, actually kind of worried.

Niall shakes his head frantically. “Nothing, just…” He tosses the phone to Louis, where a message screen is up–Josh Devine’s, to be exact.

The first message reads, _‘hey niall mates are throwing a party tomorrow night wanna come?’_

Louis looks back up. “Josh Devine is inviting you to a party.” It’s not a question.

Niall nods. “It’s an end-of-the-tour celebration thing. In Manchester.”

“White Eskimo’s tour?” Louis clarifies. Niall nods again. Louis sits back down on the bed. “Jesus,” he breathes out and hands the phone back to Niall.

“He said I could bring anyone I want, too.”

Louis’ head snaps up. “We’re going to a White Eskimo party?”

Niall nods once more and Louis joins in the yelling fit.

 

**◊◊◊◊**

 

Sometime the next day, the consciousness that specifically _Harry_ would be at the party hits Louis in the face like a brick. He’s suddenly a lot more nervous than before, by seven o’ clock is shaking in front of his mirror trying to find something to wear.

Niall ends up barging in an hour later, already dressed and slapping Louis in the back of the head.

“Pick something!” he tells his friend only in a pair of boxers. “They’re sending a car to get us in five minutes.”

“I don’t know what to put on,” Louis admits, tugging at his hair. “I need to look good!”

“God, you sound like a teenage girl,” Niall complains but helps anyway, pulling out clothes from his closet. “These black skinny jeans, white shirt and black blazer would make anyone wanna fuck ya. When you’re done changing, come in the bathroom. We’re styling your hair.”

Louis breathes out in relief, slipping on the jeans. “Thanks, Niall.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m amazing, Harry’s gonna shit bricks. Hurry up!”

 

There was no denying Louis looked hot as he studied himself in the bathroom mirror. His hair was now styled up in a quiff and the clothes Niall had chosen defined his figure exceptionally well. Forget everyone would fuck him; Louis would fuck _himself_ if that was possible.

He’s making sure his brown and sprayed hair stays in place when there’s a knock at the door. Louis hears a crash that sounds suspiciously like an Irish blonde just knocked over something on the table out of surprise and anxiety.

Louis slides his phone in his pocket before exiting the bathroom and meeting Niall at the front door where he nearly faints.

Josh Devine and Liam Payne were standing in the doorway, both looking equally amazing in skinny jeans, loose T-shirts, and gelled hair. Niall had a huge smile while he conversed with them and he slip up beside his friend.

The two musicians immediately stop talking and just stare at him, so to feel less self-conscious he sticks out his hand. “Hi, I’m Louis Tomlinson, nice to meet you.”

They slowly take his hand and shake it and Louis’ confused because he’s only said eight words to them, but then Liam speaks up. “Not… _the_ Louis Tomlinson?”

_Oh._

Well shit, of course they recognize him. Everyone in the entire world probably could by now, why would Harry’s bandmates be any different?

Louis bites on the inside of his cheek to keep from frowning (or splitting his face in half from a smile, because they know who he is and don’t seem disgusted). “Well, I’m the only recently, quite famous, Louis Tomlinson I know of, so…”

Liam and Josh both crack a smile and the former says, “It’s nice to finally meet you, too.”

_(Finally_.)

“Small world, huh?” Josh continues and Louis can only nod with a grin. The nerve butterflies are still eating away at his stomach.

Niall locks the door to the flat while they all head down the building to the car waiting outside. Luckily, no one had spotted Liam or Josh when they left earlier.

“Otherwise we’d have been surrounded by paparazzi and fans,” Josh explains, and Louis gets that, doesn’t really care for middle-aged men and hormonal teenage girls trying to get into his space.

(But fit singers from incredible bands with gorgeous smiles, huge dimples, and curly hair are a completely different story, honestly.)

They all clamber into the backseats of the black van, Liam rambling off an address to the driver in the front, and then they’re off with Louis’ nerves about ten times worse.

There seems to be an instant start in conversation between Niall and Josh and Louis feels slightly left out. Mostly he just wants Niall’s easygoing way of becoming friends with people. Maybe he wouldn’t be as paranoid about this.

They’re seated so Niall and Louis are in the very backseats while Liam and Josh are in the middle, twisted around so they’re able to talk directly to the blonde and brunette. Liam seems to notice his discomfort and nudges him with his elbow. “Hey, are you alright?” he asks slowly

_Liam Payne is initiating a conversation with him._

No, he’s not alright, but, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He tilts his head. “Are you sure?”

Louis sighs and slumps in his seat. “A bit nervous, is all.”

Liam chuckles. “Is that because a certain Harry Styles is going to be there?”

Louis’ lips turn up. “Possibly.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Liam says, “no one knew you were friends with Niall and have no idea you’re coming. You could catch him completely off guard.”

Louis turns his head to look out the window, watching as they start heading into the wealthier part of the city. “It’s more about if there’s a positive reaction.”

There’s a silence Louis takes as Liam considering his words, letting them sink in to their full meaning. Then there’s a laugh. “Trust me mate, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Louis moves his eyes back to Liam and raises an eyebrow. “Really now?”

Josh takes that moment to jump in, and Louis figures him and Niall were listening the whole time. “He’s kind of obsessed with you, because you’re all cheeky and that.” He hesitates before adding on, “and cute, he said that, too.”

Louis can feel his face heating up and knows it’s visible. He bites his lip. “That’s… good. Really good.”

He sees the other three smirking, but the feeling to vomit is a lot lower than before, so he doesn’t really care.

 

After the van has driven off to God knows where, the four of them are on the front porch to a house the size of a mansion, in Louis’ standards. It’s probably not the actual size of one, but the house is wider than his apartment complex that fits four flats on one side, with three stories, a Range Rover parked in the driveway, a longer-than-needed sidewalk up to the door along a bigger-than-needed yard, and large windows that take up about half of the first floor’s wall height, some colored lights flashing on and off through them. The front door is wide open, like anyone’s invited in, and loud dance music is blaring out.

Louis would be concerned for the neighbors if the closest house wasn’t a good fifty meters away.

Josh and Liam walk right in and Louis and Niall follow, the music instantly becoming more clear and ear-blasting. The ceiling lights are dimmed most of the way and there’s multiple colored lights all around the house, flashing on and off, so people tend to be covered in a rainbow-type lighting, none at all, or somewhere in between. Tons of people are already inside, moving through the rooms with an infamous red plastic cup in their hands and talking in corners or hallways, and if Louis cranes his head enough he can see a make-do dance floor where couples are moving to the song pumping through the speakers, peaking out behind one of the walls on the ground floor.

Otherwise, there isn’t much to see initially, but there’s a wooden staircase, much like the material of the floors, to the right a bit, that leads up to a spacious open area–which Louis guesses is the second floor with no rooms, but still about half the size of the floor below it–where a table with many bottles of liquor is set up and partygoers are mixing up their own drinks to put in their cups. Louis’ reminded he should’ve probably had pregame drinks with Niall instead of starting out the night completely sober, but his clothes disaster may have sidetracked him. Either way, he needs a drink in him.

There’s another set of stairs from that floor leading up to the third, where the bedrooms probably are, but he hasn’t seen anyone head up that, yet, so he isn’t really bothered with going.

Liam and Josh lead them through the mass of bodies, different rooms, and corridors before they’re entering a grand kitchen. People are coming in and out of this room, grabbing bottles of beer from the fridge and heading off or pouring cans into plastic cups. A few are staying and leaning against the counters to talk; a girl’s even sitting next to the oven with her head thrown back while a guy kisses down her neck and right, those bedrooms must be useful to some people.

Liam had departed from the group and went off to another section of the house with a hasty goodbye before they had gotten to the kitchen, so Josh is the one to take them over to the fridge and pull out three bottles of beer. He hands one to Niall and Louis each, then pops the cap off his own.

He takes a sip. “So,” he starts, voice a lot lower than it would have been if they were over in the main party rooms, “you two are welcome to walk around as much as you like, though I’m not sure how many people you actually know and can talk to are here. There should be a few celebs, if you’d like to get pics or summat.”

Niall states he’ll hang out with Josh at least until he’s properly drunk because _‘I came here to meet up with you, didn’t I’_ so Louis stays with them and talks about meaningless things, knowing that when Niall _is_ drunk he’ll end up dancing on a table to Shakira shirtless and getting a conversation in now is the only way to have any with him for the rest of the night.

When Louis’ finished with his first beer and has grabbed another from the refrigerator, there’s a buzz in his veins and he decides to go and socialize with other people and expand his acquaintances list.

And find Harry before he’s too out of it to have control of his brain, because all that worrying wasn’t for nothing.

He sees Liam again after accidentally bumping into about five people and narrowly avoiding even more in what he guesses is the living room, talking to fucking _Zayn Malik_ and a guy Louis doesn’t recognize, tall with brown, shaggy hair is all he can distinctly make out.

The guy is leaving before Louis can get to the trio, but Louis isn’t troubled. He comes up next to Liam, gives a smile and a _‘hello, again,_ ’ and turns toward Zayn, who’s in jeans, a band shirt, and a leather jacket, and sticks out his hand, trying to act like a relatively calm human being.

“Hi, I’m Louis, Niall’s friend,” he yells over the music, but gladly the White Eskimo guitarist seems to hear him and takes his hand, shaking it with a nod.

“Yeah, Tomlinson? Liam just told me you were here.” And holy shit Zayn Malik’s talking to him and Liam Payne referred to him in a conversation he wasn’t in. “Harry’s gonna be thrilled.”

_Woops,_ there goes the last of his sanity.

Luckily, he doesn’t let it show and the three pick up a topic and it flows surprisingly easily; he tells them about his job at the community theater and they tell him about their life on tour, and they’re swapping family stories when a blonde-haired girl in a frilly and colorful dress he recognizes as Zayn’s girlfriend from the girl group Little Mix, Perrie Edwards, comes up, gives Zayn a kiss on the cheek before saying a hello to Liam and Louis (after he explains who he is), and slips right into their discussion, laughing and joking around like she was there the whole time.

Some people come up to say hi and chat for a few minutes before leaving again, mostly Liam and Zayn’s friends Louis’ never seen or heard of in his time as a White Eskimo fan, but he learns a couple names and puts some into his phone.

Eventually the breakthrough artist of the year, Ed Sheeran ( _Ed Sheeran!_ ) comes around holding a drink, stopping to talk with their group.

“Hey, Ed,” Liam greets; tipping is head back while he swallows his beer. Zayn and Perrie repeat the welcome.

He nods his chin up as acknowledgement to them before his gaze focuses on Louis, who’s just staring at him. “Uh, I don’t think we’ve met,” Ed fucking Sheeran says, intending for Louis to introduce himself.

Oh, right.

“Louis Tomlinson!” he informs for the billionth time that night.

It’s kind of comical how Ed’s eyebrows shoot way up, almost farther than Louis thought possible on human beings, near his ginger hairline, but then he just chuckles. “I thought you looked familiar, mate! Did Harry invite you, then? About damn time–“

“No, no,” Louis interrupts, the shit nerve butterflies coming back again with the mention of Harry. This would be easier if everyone associated with Harry Styles didn’t already know who he is. “I’m a friend of Niall, if you’ve met him, who’s a friend of Josh. I haven’t actually seen Harry yet.”

“You haven’t?” He sounds genuinely surprised, which, come on, everyone should know someone’s going to be reluctant to meet a member from their favorite band that they’ve been flirting with over a social media site. That should be common knowledge. “He’s just in the other room if you want to.” Ed jerks his thumb to somewhere behind him and Louis’ fingers clench around his third beer. He’s probably not drunk enough for this. Probably.

“Uh…” he says, ever so eloquently.

Liam nudges him in the side with his elbow. “Well, go on then. What’ve you got to lose?”

“My dignity,” Louis mutters under his breath, but moves to completely face Liam. It’s now or never. “Does my hair look okay?” he questions very seriously.

Liam has the nerve to laugh and Louis glares. “Your hair looks great. Now go, before you lose your chance.”

Louis nods, running his hands through his quiff for good measure anyway, then says goodbye to the group and pushes his way through the sea of people that has gotten even thicker in the past hour. He steps into the adjoining room Ed pointed at, glances around for a few seconds and _oh._

He’s leant up against a table, and it’s easy to distinguish the guy with the crazy brown curls and standing a head taller than a majority of everyone else. He’s in a white T-shirt that shows off all his tattoos (except that butterfly on his stomach) and Louis honestly wants to lick them. His jeans are ridiculously tight, like always, and have duct tape over the knees, like he’s covering up holes. And it should be incredibly strange but it makes him all the more endearing. Harry’s talking to a girl, and it’s hard to tell from the side, but Louis thinks it’s Perrie’s bandmate Jade, who’s in a black high waist skirt and pink crop top. Something she says makes Harry laugh, grinning wide with his dimple prominent, and _God_ , does the universe hate Louis.

Louis’ still eyeing Harry when a different guy comes up behind Jade to whisper something in her ear. She smiles and nods and the guy takes her hand and leads her over to the more visible dance floor. Harry’s alone now, turning so his back is against the wall and messing with his phone.

After meeting the rest of White Eskimo, Louis knows they’re all much hotter in real life, but Harry takes the cake. He didn’t expect anything different.

He’s about to take a step forward when he’s tackled into a hug by someone.

“Louis!” a blonde Irishman shouts, nuzzling his head into Louis’ neck.

Louis’ careful not to spill his beer all over an already drunk Niall. He sighs. “What Niall?”

“Louis!” he yells again, not showing any sign of explaining his sudden affectionate behavior, though it’s most likely the alcohol’s doing.

He gently pats Niall on the back. “Niall, I’m about to go talk to a certain curly-haired someone, so if you could get off of me–“

“Curly hair,” Niall cuts in, lifting his head to peer at Louis, “Harry Styles has curly hair. Oh, you mean Harry? You’re gonna talk to Harry?! Yes, finally! Where is he? I’ll take you to him.” His words are slurred, but after living with him for three years Louis’ able to understand.

“No, Niall, that’s not necessary–“

“Oh! There he is!” Niall exclaims, apparently finding the spot Harry was standing, grabbing Louis’ wrist, and pulling them through the wads of people moving around.

Louis soon understands he’s going to get to Harry at a much faster pace than he would’ve liked, even though they stumble almost every step.

“Niall, really, this would be better on my own.”

“Shh!” he says, almost like a warning, though Louis knows he wouldn’t actually do anything. It’s just impossible to argue with a trashed-out-of-his-mind Niall. So he lets him drag him through the room, all the while preparing what he’s going to say.

_“Hey, you know that guy you’ve been talking to on Twitter? Hi.”_

_“Hi, I’m Louis Tomlinson, do you recognize me? If you don’t, that’s fine, but, um, yeah…”_

_“I’m Louis Tomlinson. Can we fuck now?”_

Niall’s going to pay for this, not giving Louis enough time to come up with something.

The tugging on his arm abruptly stops, and Louis realizes they’re standing right in front of Harry Styles, and he hasn’t looked up yet but Louis can see the green in his eyes and _oh God, fucking shit, this is happening._

Niall doesn’t waste time, much to Louis’ dismay, and walks up to the Curly Hair God with Louis in tow, taps him on the shoulder, and when he looks up, waves in his face.

Louis’ eyes are probably popping out of his head.

“Hi! I’m Niall Horan!” To anyone else but Louis it probably sounds like ‘ _hu’m nil hurin_ ’ and Harry is clearly extremely confused but he still looks so _fit_ that Louis wants to rip his hair out.

“Uh… hi?” Harry asks in his slow and deep drawl and please someone kill Louis now.

It doesn’t seem like he’s noticed Louis yet, though, which is good.

But as luck would have it, as soon as the thought crosses his mind, Harry’s eyes are trained on him with his brows narrowed like he’s contemplating something and Louis’ mind is running with _‘oh God please don’t recognize me so I can get out of this but then I kind of don’t wanna get out of this so please recognize me._ ’

But then his eyes are widening, so this is happening _now,_ and he’s not looking away and Louis can’t either.

If this won’t be the most awkward conversation in the history of the world, Louis will eat his own foot.

Niall seems to find something funny about their trance, and that’s reasonable but he doesn’t _stop_ laughing for so long Louis kicks him in the shin.

He seems to get it, fortunately, and quiets down until he’s just grinning. He waves goodbye and walks off and Louis is so going to kill him.

“Drunk Irish bastard,” Louis mumbles into his beer, not intending for anyone to hear, but there’s a chuckle and when he tilts his head up he sees Harry laughing.

He feels his heart swell (God _dammit_ ) and he’s definitely not going to admit his lips turn up and the pressure eases slightly in his chest. Nope.

“So, hi, I’m uh, Louis. Yeah.”

Fantastic, Louis. Real charmer there.

He takes a sip of the beer to stop his cheeks heating up.

All around them, people are dancing and mingling and drinking, and some techno remake of a top forty hit is blasting throughout the house, it’s hot from all the body heat, but none of it just stops, because everyone’s oblivious to Louis’ mental breakdown.

To his astonishment, Harry doesn’t laugh at him. “Yeah, I-um, it’s great to meet you.” And Dear All-That-Is-Good-in-the-World, isthat hesitancy? Sure Harry isn’t really what the press makes him out to be, a guy with no shame whatsoever and gets every girl (and guy) he wants, but he’s not the one with his pride at stake. Louis, on the other hand, has to live with the humiliation of losing the ability to speak in front of a kind-of-crush and superstar.

Louis is, without a doubt, not drunk enough for this.

He’s not really drunk at all, when he thinks about it.

Louis’ about to pinch himself awake from a dream because Harry _continues_ to talk. “I’m hoping you were actually invited here and didn’t come to crash a party.”

Louis laughs and is pleased to find he’s just as funny in real life as online, even if it’s kind of stupidly-funny. “No, that blonde, Niall, invited me. He was invited by Josh.”

Louis sees remembrance flash through Harry’s eyes. “Oh, Josh’s Niall. Yeah, he told us he was coming with a friend. Didn’t know it was…”

“Me?” Louis finished with a smirk. Harry nods and returns the smile. “Bit of a shocker to me, too, that I was coming here. But don’t want to waste the opportunity now, do I?”

Louis needs to learn how to shut his mouth.

But Harry grins, making his dimple come out again and Louis’ legs go weak, and letting him know he gets the secret meaning. “Definitely not,” he agrees.

Cheeky in reality, as well. Louis likes it.

“Let’s go then,” he starts, “what can we say now that we’ve properly met?”

Harry makes an act of looking like he’s in deep thought, a fist under his hand while his eyes stare off into space, and it’s so adorable and makes Louis want to pinch his cheeks or run his hands through his hair or drop to his knees, but that’s neither here or there.

He suddenly hunches down so he’s able to look Louis right in the face, and Louis doesn’t acknowledge the fact that Harry’s a good four or five inches taller than him. “You have really nice eyes.”

Louis’ skin flushes while Harry pulls back with a smug look. He wants to say ‘ _I could write soppy sonnets about the green of your eyes_ ’ but what comes out is, “Ditto.”

Harry seems happy with that though, and beams at Louis. It’s so bright that he can’t help but grin wide enough for his cheeks start to hurt. They stay like that, smiling at each other like idiots, before he shakes his head. Two can play that game. “Well, I have to say Styles, you’re not a whole lot different.”

Harry cocks an eyebrow, amused. “Oh?”

“Nope. Because fit, cheeky, and cute is what they all say you are.”

Louis thinks his reaction was almost identical to his own. Mission accomplished. “That’s–uh, yeah,” he stutters.

Louis takes another swig from his beer. “You know, since we seem to be in a Twitter relationship, it only makes sense to tell the adoring fans about this.”

Harry plays along. “That does seem appropriate,” he ensures.

Louis smiles at him and gets his phone out, standing side-by-side with Harry. He goes to the camera and holds the phone out so they’re both in it. Harry understands soon enough and grins at the camera. “Cheers,” Louis says and snaps the photo. He unextends his arm and takes a look at the picture. It seems fine, so he opens up his Twitter app and types out a new tweet with Harry peering over his shoulder.

**@Louis_Tomlinson: Ran into a rockstar at a party tonight! Nice meeting you @Harry_Styles**

He attaches the photo he just took to it and clicks send. When he glances back up, Harry has a small smile on his face and his eyes are sparkling with mirth, so he makes a drastic decision.

He pulls out his wallet, taking a scrap piece of paper out and a mini Sharpie he put in after one too many times of needing something to write with and not having anything, and writes ‘ _Call me!’ _ and his number down. He grabs Harry’s wrist, who’s still staring at him with a bit of confusion since Louis didn’t let him see what he was writing, and sticks the piece of paper in his open hand, manually folding his fingers so it closes around it.

He could have simply just asked for Harry’s number and put it in his phone, but Louis thinks it’s more fun this way. It’s like a proposition: if Harry calls, then they’ll talk more outside of the internet. If he doesn’t, well, Louis knows he won’t be sending anymore messages via Twitter to one famous singer.

It’s also not an outright rejection; maybe Harry just wanted a one night stand when they finally met and no number. It doesn’t seem very likely right now, but who knows? At least he can indirectly tell him he wants whatever this is to be more, and Harry can comply or deny. Easy.

Louis gives him a wink before Harry’s being called off by someone to come do something Louis’ a bit too tipsy to remember.

He doesn’t see Harry for the rest of the night, and when he wakes up the next morning back in his flat, sprawled out on his couch with a slight hangover, there’s a new Twitter notification on his phone, a tweet with his little note included, the number cropped out.

**@Harry_Styles: @Louis_Tomlinson Seems like you lost something… I’ll keep it safe and give it back when I make you dinner ;)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think I will be able to get this done in 10 chapters or less. Amazing.


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not really looked over so sorry for any mistakes i just wanted to get it up!!

Louis is sitting on the couch, eating his daily dose of Coco Pops when his phone lightens up with a new text. It’s from an unknown number, and with his morning haze and adjoining headache, it takes a longer amount of time than he’d like to admit for it all to make sense.

 

_So how about next weekend? My house :)_

He has to clutch onto the side of the sofa for dear life after he figures out who sent it. He only gains back control of his actions for the reason that his cereal bowl is about to tip over on his lap. Since he’s not actually a huge fan of wasted cereal and milk-soaked joggers, he grabs the bowl and sets it on the coffee table in front of him. He’s staring wide-eyed at his phone by the time Niall is coming out of his bedroom.

He doesn’t seem to notice Louis’ already up, doesn’t seem to notice Louis’ presence at all, and stumbles into the kitchen where he swallows some Advil Louis set out earlier. He’s wearing only boxers, his skin is very pale and he has a grimace on his face (meaning he probably threw up five minutes earlier in the bathroom).

Louis pays him no attention, still staring at his phone like he hopes it will tell him the meaning of life.

He’s not sure what to respond with, which is _stupid_ because obviously a _‘sure’_ would do just fine, but no, it doesn’t seem _Harry_ enough. The pre-stages of dating are very important.

 _Oh God, he’s in the pre-stages of dating_.

If Louis thought he was unable to answer back before, it’s nothing compared to now. He just stares at the wall, praying for a sign on what to do.

That’s when Niall stumbles into the living room, picks up the phone Louis didn’t even realize he dropped onto the couch, and reads the message still pulled up on the screen.

He squints at it, and takes his eyes away almost instantly, like the light of the screen is blinding him even though daylight is seeping in through all the windows. He blinks a few times before holding the phone back up to this face, and slowly mouths out the message and passes it back to Louis, who still hasn’t moved, with wide eyes.

“You gonna text back?” Niall slurs, before wincing and bringing a hand to his head.

Louis shakes his head. “What do I say? He’s a damn _celebrity_.”

Niall pats him on the shoulder. “A _‘hell yeah’_ would do just fine.” He stands up with a groan and slowly walks back over to the kitchen, getting a frying pan out and setting it on the counter.

Louis stares at his phone.

That could possibly work.

He types out a _‘fucking yeah,’_ then erases it, because, no, that seems way too desperate.

He goes back to his original plan, a _‘sure :)_ ’ but that seems too boring, so he erases it as well.

He finally decides on ‘ _definitely rock star,_ ’ and hits send before he can go back on it.

He tries not to visibly seem affected when he gets a reply a few minutes later, with an address and a time listed out.

(In reality, he actually spills his cereal this time.)

 

“Niall, I’m freaking out,” Louis says for the millionth time as he stands in the mirror in his bedroom, fixing the cuffs of the black button up he has on.

“Just treat it like any normal date,” Niall helpfully tells him from his place on Louis’ bed.

“I’ve never dated someone famous!” Louis exclaims, twisting around to give Niall a scathing look.

“The trick is to remember they’re still people.” Niall smirks at Louis, playing some game on his phone.

Louis sighs, facing back to the mirror and swiping his fringe to the left.

“Alright, Harry Styles is a completely normal person that I’m going on a completely normal date with. Got it.”

He hears the creak of the bed and sees the reflection of Niall standing behind Louis.

“You’re gonna be fine, mate. You like him and he likes you. And I’m a firm believer fate has set you up because this stuff just doesn’t happen.”

Louis bites his lip, straightening out his shirt so it falls over his dark skinny jeans.

“Really?” Louis tentatively says.

Niall pulls him into a one-armed hug, crushing Louis into his side.

“Really, Lou. Now go start your happily ever after, will ya?”

Louis smiles besides himself, returning Niall’s embrace.

“Okay,” he agrees easily. “If I’m lucky, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Niall laughs, ruffling Louis’ hair and causing him to let out an indignant squawk, slapping Niall’s hands away.

“That’s more like the Louis I know. Now get out of my sight, this love stuff is disgusting.”

Louis leaves the flat with a new found confidence and a grin on his face.

 

Harry’s apartment is in the suburbs of Manchester, a lot nicer than the area Louis and Niall lived in, and without potential drug dealers on the corner of the streets.

Louis heads up to Harry’s floor and flat, triple checking he’s got the right place, takes a deep breath, and knocks on the door.

He hears footsteps come from the other side and his insides twist up, unease getting the best of him, quickly fixing his hair before the door opens.

Harry Styles, in the living flesh and sober, looked like a model straight off the runway. He head jeans on similar to Louis’, but that’s where the comparisons stop. Harry is clad in a white jumper, loose around the forearms, and a black flannel scarf wrapped around his curly hair, pushing it back to give it a windswept look. He has a blinding smile on his face that lights up his whole presence, while Louis feels like he could melt into a puddle on the floor.

“Hi,” Harry drawls, the _‘I’_ stretching out, and he’s peering down at Louis, and _oh dear God he almost forgot about the height difference._

“Hey,” Louis says, and he hates how breathless he sounds but this is the farthest from ordinary Louis has ever come. Instinctively, he wants to pinch or pour cold water on himself and wake up from some elaborate dream, but he knows, deep down, he’s aware of how real it is.

Harry’s smile seems to diminish a bit, replaced with something a little softer and more intimate.

“You look nice,” he says, and Louis’ heart swells, just as dramatically as the Grinch’s.

“Thanks.” Then, on a surge of bravery, “You gonna invite me in?”

Harry has the decency to blush and stammer out a, “Yeah, yeah, come in,” while waving his hands in a gesture to come inside.

Louis decides then that thinking of this date like he would any other one with an adorable and somehow hot at the same time guy is the best option. So he grins at Harry as he walks past him into the flat, letting him now that it’s fine.

The ‘flat’ is more like the size of a small house, a huge living room space with a flat screen TV, every gaming system made in the last five years, a shelf of miscellaneous albums and video games, and a couch that Louis is sure would feel like a cloud if he were to sit down on it.

He sees all of this just in the first few steps inside.

There’s no lights on in the room, and with the sun already have set, it’s a little dark. Harry leads him past the living room though, and through a doorway into the kitchen, where a table has been set up off to the side with two plates opposite each other, silverware, napkins, and wineglasses. There’s two classic candles lit up in the center, and Louis suspects it’s the only source of light in the whole apartment.

A part of Louis wants to laugh, because no one has to go through all this trouble for _him_ , but another part, a bigger one, is extremely flattered. Everything about this is romantic and sweet and _yeah,_ no one _has_ gone through this much trouble just for him.

And Louis’ just a fan of Harry’s band that was lucky enough to have front row tickets and catch his eye, and in some twist of fate, manage to get one of his tweets seen by the same member. Harry’s not entitled to do any of this for him, famous enough to get Louis to agree to a one night stand and that’s the end of it. And all Louis would do is chuckle because _that’s life_ and tons of celebrities will do the same thing over and over again, and he wouldn’t be special in anyway, no attachments, Harry free to get laid multiple times by whoever he wants.

But for some reason, Harry decided Louis _was_ special, different than the rest of the fans begging for attention. And it shouldn’t make Louis feel as happy and important as it does that Harry did the whole candlelit homemade dinner for him, but he really, _really_ , can’t help it.

He isn’t sure what to say about it though, because that entire confession is something for another time, so what comes out is, “What are we having?”

Harry doesn’t seem too bothered by the forwardness, happily giving Louis an answer. “Chicken,” he says with a wide smile. “Keep up with the cliché theme.”

Louis’ eyes flick towards the stove, where a plate piled with slices of chicken is sitting. Next to it are two bowls, one of mixed vegetables, another of mashed potatoes. There’s also another plate, this one with a few pieces of garlic bread.

It’s almost like a family meal, and Louis finds it oddly comforting.

“You can, um, sit down, if you want.” Harry rubs the back of the neck, and it’s obvious he’s more nervous than he’s letting on.

Louis takes one of the seats gratefully, sending a reassuring smile Harry’s way, which gets reciprocated.

Harry walks over to the stove and brings the plates and bowls to the table, placing them down in the center by the candles, along with a wine bottle. It looks delicious, Louis thinks, and like definite hard work was put into it.

“You made this all yourself?” Louis comments, surveying all the food.

Harry nods, taking the opposite seat from Louis. “Yeah. Took a few hours but I think it was worth it.”

Louis grabs a fork and takes a few slices of the chicken, setting them on the plate in front of them. “I think so, too.”

They take their desired food and amounts, and when Louis takes his first bite of the chicken, it’s like pure heaven on his taste buds, and if he wasn’t already kind of in love with Harry before, he is now.

The two eat in silence for a few minutes, but they slowly dive into conversation about their family, friends, hometowns, all the ‘favorite’ questions, all the jokes they know (Harry’s corny ones may or may make Louis choke on the bread), and all in all, with the easiness they seem to share like they’ve known each other forever instead of a few weeks (and then, it’s only been a day since they met), and the way they get each other’s sense of humor like it’s nothing, it’s the best date Louis has ever had.

They finish up, and Louis helps Harry wash all the dishes. Louis constantly hip-checks Harry when he passes over a plate or glass, and Harry blushes and ducks his head every time.

Louis feels proud of himself. He’s managed not to make an ass of himself in front of the guy he likes—a guy in a band, no less—and he’s pretty sure Harry’s enjoyed himself, too, which is absolutely, incredibly perfect.

This _thing_ wasn’t a waste of time, it seems, and something good could very possible come out of it.

But there’s a bit of an awkward moment when the dishes are all done and neither of them knows where to go from there.

So Louis, remembering Niall’s advice from earlier, takes a chance, stepping forward and connecting his and Harry’s lips.

Harry reacts instantly _(Thank God)_ gripping Louis’ head in his hands while Louis’ arms go around his neck, pulling him down for better leverage. Their mouths move in sync, and Harry tastes like the red wine they had earlier, and it’s so much _better_ than Louis could have ever thought.

It gets heated fairly quickly and tongues are soon involved, licking into each other’s mouths while Harry backs Louis up against the sink, arms moving to either side of the counter to cage him there.

Louis’ hands slip under Harry’s shirt, clenching around his waist and leaving fingernail imprints into the skin. Harry moans into his mouth which makes Louis smile and pull away, staring up at Harry with dazed eyes.

“Bedroom?” he whispers, and Harry nods, barely getting a ‘ _yes_ ’ past his lips before he’s taking Louis’ arm and dragging them off down a hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a while but I said I would continue it and I did!
> 
> I'm also pretty sure this will only be six chapters; one more for the main story and than an epilogue (or the part 2 of the au meme)
> 
> As always, you can follow me on Twitter here: @broken_anna  
> or on Tumblr here: larryarrow.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter: @millounaires
> 
> follow me on tumblr: larryarrow.tumblr.com


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